Scenes from the Life of Mr and Mrs Darcy
by ProudScrivener
Summary: An eclectic collection of scenes from the life or Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, from their first kiss and beyond.
1. Too Clever By Half

**Author's Note:** This work of Pride and Prejudice fanfiction will contain a selection of vignettes from the lives of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy (or, in the case of this first selection, Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy). Some of these vignettes are original to this site, and some are excerpted from my commercially published books. If you like these short pieces, please consider reading one of my novels, which are available from most online retailers of books. Just search for _Conviction: A Sequel to Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice_, _An Unlikely Missionary_, or _The Strange Marriage of Anne de Bourgh_.

**/***/**

_**Two months before the wedding…**_

The weather appeared to be holding, though the clouds still threatened rain, and the two engaged couples determined to break free from the stifling confines of Longbourn to walk through nature's luscious byways. When they reached a fork in the road, Jane and Mr. Bingley veered off in one direction, while Mr. Darcy led Elizabeth in the other.

Elizabeth turned and motioned back to her sister and Mr. Bingley, as though to indicate to Mr. Darcy that he had absently taken the wrong turn. He understood her gesture, but he said, "Let the young lovers have their privacy."

Elizabeth laughed at the appellation. "Young? Mr. Darcy, Jane is my senior."

"I wasn't referring to them," he said.

She was pleased by his apparent desire to be alone with her, but she was also nervous. It was the first time since their engagement they had been entirely unrestrained by the presence of others. Her insecurity faded, however, when she saw him looking down at her with an amused expression on his face; it was then she realized he had been joking. They had crossed wits long before their engagement, but this was a different kind of humour; it revealed a softening of Mr. Darcy's reserve, and she was glad to see it.

"I can judge by the cast of your face," she said, "that you are only toying with me."

Elizabeth merely feigned offense, but Mr. Darcy took her seriously and reproached himself. Women, he thought, expected a man to be deadly earnest when it came to romance. And he was—about her. But not about the game of courtship, with which he had no experience, and which made him feel exceptionally awkward. "I am sorry, Elizabeth, I did not mean to make light-"

Now she was smiling at him, and he fell silent. So he had mistaken her after all, and no apology was necessary.

He continued to look at her as they strolled on, leaning upon his walking staff for support; and he needed support. Her smile had set off those fine eyes, and they were brighter than ever. He did not understand how a woman could grow more beautiful with each passing day, and yet Elizabeth had somehow accomplished the feat.

"So," said Elizabeth, when he did not speak to her, "should we comment upon the weather? Or do you prefer some other topic? Religion and politics, of course, are forbidden in polite company."

Still he gazed at her wordlessly. It was discomforting, but not wholly unpleasant.

"Mr. Darcy, you persist in attempting to frighten me. I thought we had progressed beyond this phase."

He smiled hesitantly. "I do not always know the appropriate words to speak on any given occasion."

"You have had little difficulty exchanging words with me before, in company."

"We are not in company, Miss Bennet."

"Indeed we are not." She looked down at her hands as they walked. Why was this so difficult? He knew that she loved him; why then did he rarely seem fully at ease with her? She touched his hand gently to stop him from strolling, and he stood patiently, waiting for her reason.

"What weighs on your mind, Fitzwilliam, to make you so silent?"

Fitzwilliam. It was the first time she had called him that, and he was surprised how much the simple sound of his own name could thrill him as it fell from her lips. Her lips. That was what had been weighing on his mind.

_How does one build up to this?_ he wondered. He had no talent for misdirection. And yet, he could not simply come right out and ask her, could he?

"Elizabeth, may I kiss you?" _I've said it_, he thought. _Just like that. How unromantic._

He awaited her response, but the steely confidence that had once propelled him through his first proposal was gone. How would she respond to his directness?

"Yes."

He was not sure he had heard her correctly. It was just one word, one tiny syllable. He had expected at least a good-humoured quip, if not a rebuff.

"You said 'Yes'?"

She smiled at him, but she did not answer.

He repeated himself, more nervous this time, "You said 'Yes'?"

"Yes, Fitzwillaim," she laughed. "I said yes."

"Good," he said, and smile broadly. "Very good." But he did not kiss her. Instead, he took her arm and began walking again.

Elizabeth was bewildered. She peered up at him, trying to read his expression. Was he taunting her? But he only appeared sincerely happy.

Finally, she asked, "Was there a purpose to your question?"

"Of course," he replied. "My goal was to secure your permission."

"Yet not to act upon it?"

"Oh, well, now that I have your permission, I suppose I may act on it any time I like, mightn't I?"

She stopped walking and looked at him curiously.

"Or," he questioned, "do I need to ask each time until we are married? I'm not sure what the guidelines are on that point."

"Mr. Darcy, I cannot, for the life of me, determine whether you are in earnest."

"About what?"

"About...about anything and everything you have said since we took this path. You behave so strangely."

"In what way?" He actually sounded surprised, as though he really did not perceive the peculiarity in his performance.

"Why, you ask if you may kiss me, you secure my consent, and then you walk on as though the question had never been proposed."

"Oh, but surely you would not wish me to kiss you so soon after asking. That would rather negate the element of surprise, would it not?"

"Isn't that the point?"

"I understood you liked spontaneity. You have a very lively spirit, Elizabeth. It is one of the many things that makes you dear to me."

She could not control her laughter, though she tried. "If you wanted to be spontaneous, Mr. Darcy, why did you bother to ask at all?"

He seemed appalled. "How could I not? I would never show you such disrespect."

She shook her head. Was it conceivable that Mr. Darcy had a frivolous side to his personality? No, no, he was in earnest.

"So then," she asked him, "I shall never know when it is coming?"

"No, my dear Elizabeth. You cannot guess."

"I'm not sure that's fair. It gives you complete control."

"How is that? You had the power to refuse me."

"Yes, in that one moment. And in that one moment I desired your kiss. But now I am forever at your mercy, for I cannot retract my consent."

"No, Miss Bennet. A woman may retract her refusal, but I do not think she can, in all fairness, retract her consent. Both facts have worked to my advantage since first meeting you."

"Very well then," announced Elizabeth, taking his arm once again. "We will walk on, and I will anticipate nothing-"

Unexpectedly, he had bent and kissed her quickly on the cheek. The impression was still warm when he withdrew, but she had not anticipated it, and so she had missed the pleasure. "Unjust," she accused. "Most unjust."

"That one did not count," said Mr. Darcy. "For it was only a cheek."

"Well you had better warn me when it is the lips, Mr. Darcy, because I would prefer not to miss it."

"I cannot promise to forewarn you, my dear Elizabeth, but I can at least promise to prolong the experience, in order to ensure that you do not fail to notice it."

He was far too pleased with himself. This would not do.

"You are too clever by half, Mr. Darcy," she said, as she stopped and turned. She then stood on her tiptoes to kiss him firmly and squarely on the mouth.

He actually stumbled back. He looked not just surprised, but outright astonished.

Elizabeth regretted her audacity. He had challenged her, and she had acted according to her competitive spirit. In so doing, however, she had usurped from him his masculine prerogative, and she was now sure she had affronted him deeply.

Abashed, she raised her head to apologize, when she felt his hot breath upon her mouth and sensed him draw near as he closed his lips over hers. For Elizabeth, her own kiss had been a means of inflicting a playful punishment, her way of rebuking him for his self-assurance. She had not really experienced it. But for Mr. Darcy, it had been like the first drop of water to a parched and desperate man.

The passion of his response excited her, and as his soft but determined lips bore down on her own, he ignited an entirely new feeling in her now trembling frame. She was almost frightened. But instead of giving into that fear, she surrendered to the pleasure of the moment.

At length, he withdrew his mouth from hers, but now he wrapped his arms around her and drew her close. She lay her head on his chest, and mumbled, "I thought you were angry with me."

"I presume that misconception has been corrected."

"It has been," she replied, "in the best way imaginable."

Here he held her tighter, gratified to know he had given her pleasure. He looked up at the sky, as if to thank God Himself for this precious, undeserved gift, and he saw that that the clouds had darkened dramatically, but he did not care. Let the floodgates of heaven shake loose their restraints, he thought, let the rains pour forth. Not even a torrent could dampen his spirit today.


	2. Let Not the Sun Go Down

_**Six months after their marriage…**_

"Good afternoon, Mr. Dawson," said Elizabeth to Mr. Darcy's steward as he emerged from the gentleman's study. "Are you and Mr. Darcy working on a Saturday?"

"Yes. We had some business to resolve, as it appears we will soon lose a tenant."

"What do you mean?"

"Mr. Warren is late on his rent payment once again, and Mr. Darcy has informed him that if he cannot make restitution by the end of next weekend, he will be evicted. Since Mr. Darcy must leave for Cheshire on business today, he has given me authority to carry out the eviction myself in his absence—in the event that Mr. Warren should not pay." The steward seemed pleased by his employer's confidence in him, but his words unsettled Elizabeth. She bid Mr. Dawson good day and hastened to the study to confront her husband. "Fitzwilliam," she asked, "is it true that you intend to evict one of your tenants if he does not pay by the end of the week?"

"Yes, darling," he replied, as he walked over to kiss her by way of greeting.

"You have always been a liberal landlord," she said. "Why would you insist on such a drastic action?"

He smiled at her generous spirit. "Believe me, I have my reasons, and if I had more time, I would happily explain them to you, but I am already late. I must leave."

She was distracted from her interest in Mr. Warren by her concern for her husband's impending absence. "When will you be returning?"

"As soon as my business is concluded. I will be gone no more than two weeks, I assure you."

"I will miss you," she said, unhappily anticipating the lonely days ahead. Georgiana would be a pleasant enough companion, but Elizabeth would still yearn for the meeting of minds that characterized her marriage to Mr. Darcy.

"And I you," he replied, leaning to kiss her. When she responded eagerly to the pressure of his lips, he drew back. "Elizabeth, I am already late, and I shall by no means find my way out of this house if you return my kiss like that."

"Oh, I am so very sorry, Mr. Darcy," she answered with feigned contrition. "Please, do kiss me farewell again, and I promise to respond as coldly as possible."

He laughed. "No, dear. I do not think you could ever be capable of frigidity, even if you were to try very hard. Therefore I will not risk another kiss. I must depart." He bowed and walked away, but she followed him to the door, and so he allowed himself to touch her lips with his own one last time before descending the stairs to his awaiting carriage.

**[***] **

The following weekend, as Elizabeth was taking a tour of the grounds to determine what additions Pemberley might require, she encountered Mr. Warren. He addressed himself to her, holding his hat abashedly in his hands. "Mrs. Darcy?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, cautiously, for she had never met the man before.

"I am Mr. Warren, one of Mr. Darcy's tenants."

"Oh yes," she said pleasantly. "I know the name."

"Is Mr. Darcy at home?"

"No, I am afraid he is away on business and may not return until next Saturday. If you have come to pay the rent, you may see his steward."

"You see, that's just the thing madam. I cannot pay the rent. There are certain circumstances…that is, I had hoped to speak with Mr. Darcy. He is a good man, madam, a very good man, and if I could just speak to him, I know he would understand." The farmer blinked as though attempting to fight back tears.

"Mr. Warren, what is wrong?"

He began to toy with the rim of his hat, looking down as though to control his emotions. "My sister, madam," he said, "is very ill. Her husband cannot possibly afford to give her the care that she needs. I have sent her the last shilling in my pocket, that she may be well. I will earn it back again in a month. I will be able to pay Mr. Darcy then."

"I do not doubt," responded Elizabeth with warm reassurance, "that when Mr. Darcy knows your extenuating circumstances, he will offer you a reprieve."

"But that's just the thing," replied Mr. Warren. "The wheels are set in motion, you see. You are quite right; if only Mr. Darcy knew of my circumstance, I am certain he would show mercy. I fear, however, that because he is away, I shall be evicted by his steward."

"I will see what I can do, Mr. Warren," she told him.

"Thank you madam," replied the farmer, grinning wildly, "Thank you so very much." He bowed hurriedly, and then he scurried back down the lane.

**[***] **

The following morning, Elizabeth was determined to see Mr. Darcy's steward. After arriving at his cottage, she placed a handful of notes on Mr. Dawson's desk. "Will that be enough to satisfy Mr. Warren's rent?" she asked.

The steward glanced at the notes suspiciously. "Yes," he said, but the word was laced with hesitation.

"If I pay, it is still acceptable?" she asked.

"It makes no legal difference, Mrs. Darcy, who pays the rent, as long as it is paid. But have you discussed this with Mr. Darcy?"

"I have not had the opportunity."

Mr. Dawson shuffled the notes together and then opened a locked box, where he placed them. The box also contained a ledger, but he made no notation within it.

"Aren't you going to record that?" she asked.

"Later," he replied. "Where did you get the money? It is not from Mr. Darcy, I assume, if you have not discussed the matter with him."

"He gave me the money before he left, as a gift to buy a new dress for the upcoming ball, but I will be more than satisfied to wear an old one if these funds can be put to better use."

Elizabeth parted from Mr. Dawson's company, wondering why his eyes followed her warily as she went.

**[***] **

As Elizabeth walked home from the steward's cottage, she smiled. She was not the sort of woman to congratulate herself on her own generosity; nevertheless, she could not help but feel satisfied. The old Christian adage, that it is better to give than to receive, had proven itself to Elizabeth time and time again. Consequently, when Mrs. Reynolds told her that Mr. Darcy had returned from Cheshire early, she hastened to his study to convey her news.

His countenance brightened upon her entrance, and he ceased looking through the stack of letters he held in his hand, although he did not set them down. She kissed him warmly but briefly and began to relay her story, telling him with eagerness how and why she had paid the farmer's rent.

She was so preoccupied with her tale, that she did not observe how his expression altered as she spoke. She had anticipated that, at worst, he would be endearingly ruffled by her initiative-taking venture. She was shocked, therefore, when he responded with actual anger.

"How dare you, Elizabeth!" he exclaimed, raising his voice to her for the first time in their six months of marriage. "How dare you presume to interfere in my affairs, without my consent and indeed against my will!"

Elizabeth stepped forward and grasped the back of a chair for support. "Fitzwilliam," she said, the natural instinct to defend herself mounting rapidly from within, "Mr. Warren was desperate, and I thought you would not return until next week."

"I told you I had reasons for delivering that ultimatum. Mr. Warren has been delinquent in his rent on more than one occasion, and on more than one occasion I have forgiven him. But when for the fifth time in a year his rent was not forthcoming, I paid a call to him on his farm. That land, Elizabeth, is as lush and fertile as any in Derbyshire, but he has let it go to waste. It did not take long for me to ascertain that he squanders both his time and income on drink and gambling and who knows what other perverse habits. Whatever cock and bull story he may have told you, his debauchery is the real reason for his inability to pay."

He watched her reaction, but he was unable to decipher her feelings. "Now, this whole matter would never be so urgent," he continued, "were it not also for the fact that I was approached by a very deserving man who desires to rent from me. At the time, I had nothing to offer him. Although he was raised as a farmer, he has since been forced to seek other work in Lambton, and he desires nothing more than to return to the land. He and his family are presently crowded within a tiny apartment, and his active children have no fields in which to roam. As Mr. Warren has leased that property, I cannot reasonably evict him until he defaults on the rent. I had forgiven him previous failures, but once I had purer knowledge of his character, I forewarned him that should he default again, he would have to leave. I saw no reason to expect he would pay, and so I had hoped to have him off my land by the month's end. Yet you have prevented me."

"Fitzwilliam, I am sorry; I did not know—"

"Of course you did not know! You did not even trouble to consult me."

"I did ask you about him! Only you were too hurried to trouble yourself with an answer!"

"I answered you enough to assure you that I had good reason for my actions." As he spoke, a new emotion mingled with his anger. To his wife, it sound very much like pain. "Had you respected me Elizabeth, my word would have been sufficient."

He awaited her response but she was speechless. When she did not reply, he took the letters he had been holding, tossed them violently upon his desk, and stormed from the room.

**[***] **

Elizabeth sat down. It took awhile for her astonishment to subside before she could begin to consider the scene that had just transpired. She assured herself that her intentions had been honorable. And they had been. It was not long, however, before further reflection inspired her to admit that she should have waited to discuss the matter with her husband. He had, before leaving for Chesire, claimed an "impeccable" rationale for issuing such an ultimatum, and she should have valued his character enough to know that he would never conduct his affairs in either a rash or ruthless manner.

Elizabeth Darcy had her moments of pride, but she was not naturally a proud woman. Therefore, she was able to confess to herself that her actions—however well-meaning—had been wrong, that they had, in fact, injured Mr. Darcy by making her regard for him appear less than it really was.

She had now taken that first, awful step of self-admission, but there was a grimmer task at hand. How was she to make amends? Since their wedding day, a cross word had never passed between them, and she was not sure how best to proceed.

Nevertheless, Elizabeth rose to seek out her husband, anxious for an immediate reconciliation. But he was nowhere to be found. "Mrs. Reynolds," she asked the housekeeper, "have you seen Mr. Darcy?"

"Yes madam. He asked me to tell you he has gone to Lambton on an errand of business, and that he will not return until this evening."

Elizabeth was disheartened by the reply, but she supposed Mr. Darcy needed time to cool-off. He was a passionate man, and such a trait must inevitably have its disadvantages, although until now, she had experienced only its more agreeable effects.

**[***] **

When Mr. Darcy returned late that evening, Elizabeth approached him in the hall. "Should I have the cook set out dinner for you?" she asked. "We can talk while you eat."

"I have already eaten," he replied. His face was stern, but his tone was only indifferent, and that was even worse. He reached into his pocket and removed a bundle of notes, which he held out to her.

She took them uncertainly. "What is this?" she asked.

"Your money. My steward returned it to me. He never officially acknowledged its receipt. He trusted me."

"Fitzwilliam, we need to talk—"

He held up a hand to stop her words. "No, Elizabeth," he said. "Not tonight. I might say something I will later regret." With that, he began to walk past her.

She called after him, "Then when?"

He paused. He seemed reluctant to answer, but he forced himself to set a time. "Come to my chamber tomorrow morning. We'll talk then."

"Then you will not be staying with me tonight?" she asked, knowing full well that for the past six months, he had not slept a day in his own bed.

"No. Not tonight," he said, and walked deep into the shadows of Pemberley.

**[***] **

Mrs. Darcy had been angered by her husband's rebuff, but she was still zealous to end the feud. She was at his door at daybreak the next morning. She reached for the doorknob, and then she stopped. She knew it was too early. He must still be sleeping. She began to turn anyway when the door opened suddenly.

"Elizabeth!" said Mr. Darcy, somewhat surprised. "How long have you been here?"

She was relieved to hear that his voice was no longer apathetic. "Not long," she answered.

He swung wide the door and extended his arm in a gesture of invitation. She passed by and sat down by the fire he had lit that morning as he took a chair across from her.

Elizabeth held her hands anxiously in her lap, unsure of how to begin. She observed that Mr. Darcy's bed was still made-up, as though it had never even been touched. Eventually she said, "I meant well."

"Of course you did, my love," he answered.

She had not expected such softness in his voice, not after the previous night. "Then why were you so very angry?" she asked.

"Because even though you once vowed to honour and obey me, yesterday you did neither. The obedience I can do without, provided your rebellion is good-natured. But the honour-"

"I should have trusted you, Fitzwilliam, and for that failure I am sincerely sorry. Yet you must understand my position. I did not know all the facts."

"Nor did my steward, and yet he acquiesced to my judgment."

"Men are different."

"They are certainly less complicated."

"I don't know about that. I've had a hard time reading you these past eighteen hours."

"Have you, Elizabeth?"

"Yes, I have. However, I comprehend, at least, that I managed to injure you, and I do not intend to do so again. I may have shown you less honour than I feel for you, but I do feel it, Fitzwilliam. I respect you because you are worthy of respect."

Mr. Darcy was content. He knew his wife would not lie to him; he knew she would not profess admiration if she did not genuinely experience it.

"I am sorry, Elizabeth," he said, "if I was too severe with you yesterday. I should have expressed my displeasure without raising my voice."

"There is no need for you to apologize—"

"There is a need, or I would not do so-"

"—for that, I mean. You had a right to be angry with me. I do not fault you for that. But you should have been willing to talk to me about it, instead of walking away. It was petty of you to seek to punish me by avoiding me."

"If I appeared to be avoiding you, it was only because I wanted to discipline my emotions before broaching the subject a second time. You are very dear to me, Elizabeth. I did not want to risk saying something unjust, and I was unfortunately in no mood to be rational. I am positively sorry, my love, that it took me so long to master my anger."

Elizabeth smiled in silent acceptance of his apology. The couple grew silent.

Mr. Darcy looked down and began to bend his graceful fingers one by one against his hand. He appeared almost nervous. "So," he said finally, "I suppose we are finished?"

"Finished?" Elizabeth asked anxiously, misunderstanding his question.

"I mean with our fight."

She looked relieved. "Yes, I suppose we are. At least, I have nothing to add."

"Then what do we do next? What does one do after resolving a marital dispute?"

"I presume we should reconcile," she suggested.

"What, here or in your bedchamber?"

Elizabeth was vaguely irked by the sudden suggestion, which followed too fast on the heels of his apology. Yet when she looked at him, she saw in his eyes that he was laughing at her. She had taught him how to tease, and now he was going to teach her to regret the fact.

"Ah," she said at last, "You were only joking."

"Half joking," he clarified, and rose from his chair, crossing to stand beside her. He took her hand in his and held it to his cheek before turning his face to kiss it. "I love you, Elizabeth," he said. "Promise me we will never quarrel again."

"Fitzwilliam, you know I only make promises I am certain I can keep."

He dropped her hand in mock offense and tried to appear disillusioned, but her smile soon elicited his own. "Very well then, Lizzy. Promise me that the next time we quarrel, we will endeavor to reconcile with greater haste."

"That I can easily promise for myself, but this 'we' you speak of, Fitzwilliam, is a plural pronoun."

"You have my word, Elizabeth, that I will henceforth obey the apostle's admonition: 'Let not the sun go down upon your wrath.'"

"Then it is a mutual promise. And my answer is here."

"Your answer is where?"

"No, I mean my answer is 'here.'"

"Lizzy, darling, you're not making any sense."

" 'Here' is my answer to your question as to where we should reconcile. A change of scenery is occasionally requisite."

"Oh," he said slowly, letting her implication dawn gradually upon him. "I see."

Mr. Darcy then kneeled down before her chair so that he might face her without stooping. He wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her close.

"Have you anywhere to be this morning?" she asked.

"Nowhere," he replied.

"Then I need not practice temperance? I need not be concerned that my response may detain you?"

"Not at all," he declared huskily, as he leaned in to kiss her.

And now, dear readers, let us with all due respect avert our eyes, as the curtain closes fast upon this bedroom scene.


	3. Keeping the Old Calendar

**Chapter Three: Keeping the Old Calendar **

_**About ten months after the marriage…**_

"Do you know why it is called April Fool's Day?" Mr. Darcy asked, twisting his wedding ring about his ring finger, not entirely without nervousness. Elizabeth gave him a searing glance and fixed her eyes back on her book, but he was quite sure she was not reading. He had thought his April Fool's Day joke rather amusing himself, but Mrs. Darcy had not precisely taken to it with aplomb. Now he must redeem himself. Of course, an apology might have worked better than a history lesson, but such revelations are often slow to occur to a man.

"People," he said, "used to celebrate the New Year on April 1st, before the introduction of the Gregorian calendar in 1582." No improvement. Her eyes were still fixed on her book. He cleared his throat and shifted in the arm chair. He looked for a moment out the sitting room window, and then returned his gaze to her. With renewed effort, he said, "The French, as may be expected, were rather stubborn about adapting to the change. They insisted on continuing the celebration of the New Year on April 1st. A rather foolish insistence, and hence the name—"

"The French are hardly the only fools," she said, interrupting him angrily.

Now, her meaning might have been obvious, but a man who has found himself trapped between the mythical rock and a hard place will cling to any chimera that gives him hope. So he interpreted her interjection as a scholar, not as a spouse. "Oh, indeed," he said. "The English resisted accepting the calendar for many years. In fact, they did not adopt it until 1751."

When he had concluded communicating this factual tidbit, Mrs. Darcy threw her book angrily upon the end table and departed the room with fury.

Mr. Darcy remained a moment longer, toying with the ring about his finger and staring in the general direction of her exit, a befuddled look about his face. He was well aware of the perilous position in which he had placed himself. What was not equally clear to him, however, was how he could manage to extract himself from this unfortunate circumstance. He considered his options, and decided, at length, that apology would be his best recourse, but he was by no means assured of his immediate success. He must, therefore, resolve upon a certain measure of patience and perseverance.

Having at last determined his course of action, he pursued it without further hesitation. He found her in her chamber packing a trunk. His rehearsed apology lodged somewhere in the midst of his throat, and he stared on at her with utter disbelief. "What are you doing?" he said at last.

"I am returning to Longbourn for the duration of the spring."

"Excuse me?"

"I will return to Pemberley in July, if I see fit to do so."

"Pardon?"

"Perhaps by then you will have learned to respect me." She slammed the lid shut and headed for the closet, removing a bonnet from the shelves happily lodged therein.

She approached him with a look of intense vehemence in her face, and his own countenance held a mixture of anger, fear, and confusion. Though his complexion was livid his jaw was very slightly agape and showed no sign of closing.

She brought her angry face very close to his and then, wholly without warning, kissed him firmly and warmly upon the mouth, "April Fool's!" she exclaimed, and laughed, tossing her bonnet casually upon the bed. "Did you really believe, sir, that I could not take a joke?" And with that, she walked merrily from the room.


	4. A Protective Brother

[***]

**Author's Note:** The following scene from the life of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy is excerpted, with permission from the publisher, from my novel _Conviction: A Sequel to Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice _(ISBN 0977445232, Double Edge Press, 2006) which is available from online retailers of books.

[***]

The parade of gentlemen who had sought to dance with Georgiana Darcy all averred they had been drawn by news of her singular beauty and diverse accomplishments, but her elder brother suspected that the promise of an expansive fortune had not been a deterrent. "I should have been at peace had she never been allowed out," he said, somewhat edgily, as he fell into his favorite chair by the fireplace. The ball had concluded and the house was now solemnly quiet, save for the crackling of the single fire, which had been lit to provide a reading light. Elizabeth Darcy let her eyes depart momentarily from the pages of her book to honor him with an amused glance, but she was soon reading again by firelight.

"And what do you mean by that look?" he asked, feeling himself settling back at ease after a tiresome night, which had required him to converse amiably with a great many strangers. He had performed admirably, but he was nonetheless glad to return to his own small family circle. Now that Georgiana and the family's various houseguests had retired for the night, Mr. Darcy could finally be alone with his wife.

"Why I mean nothing at all by it, Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth said, archly returning her eyes to his face.

"Hmmm," he murmured, clearly unconvinced. "You think me, perhaps, too cautious an elder brother?"

"I did not say so, my dear. Yet I think it may not be necessary to interrogate every gentleman who happens to dance with Miss Darcy."

"Interrogate!" he exclaimed in mock protest, knowing full well her statement had been light-heartedly hyperbolic. "I was merely attempting to ascertain their characters."

"And how did you get on?"

"About as well as you when you first met me, I imagine."

"You thought them all despicable?"

"No. I only mean that I had not the necessary information to draw an informed opinion."

"Unfortunately, that consideration did not stop me when I first drew a fixed opinion of you. Had I been less hasty in solidifying my prejudices, perhaps, our courtship would not have been so—tumultuous."

He winced. "It is equally true that had I been less arrogant and more of a gentleman—"

Elizabeth stopped him with a slight raise of the hand. "It is enough. We have been married for well over a year now, and I think we can put our humble beginnings behind us."

He nodded. They sat silently for a moment as he watched her face. At times, he still stared at her in that same odd manner; it was a look she had once mistaken for offense, but which she now knew meant he was either struggling to arrive at some conclusion or striving to control some emotion. In this case, she suspected the former and asked quietly, "What are you thinking?"

"I am hoping that my sister will be able to make as fulfilling a match as I have done. But I fear…I fear it will be difficult to tell if she is sought for herself or for her thirty thousand pounds. Appearances, as we have both learned, can be deceiving; men know well how to don masks in society. Of course, it has never been a particular talent of mine."

"No, it has not. And although I once took umbrage at the fact, I have since learned to respect you for it. But do you not trust your sister's feelings to be a reliable guide in this matter?"

He raised his eyebrows. It was not a well-thought question. Georgiana had almost eloped with the disreputable Mr. Wickham, who was now married to Elizabeth's sister Lydia. Indeed, even Elizabeth had been temporarily persuaded by his seemingly fine character, and she did not have quite the innocence of Georgiana.

"Then at least, love," she continued, "do not worry yourself about any of them until your sister should take a particular preference to one. Then perhaps you could inquire after him in a…subtle fashion."

"Invite him over in company for dinner; observe his character."

"Yes, exactly. And you will, no doubt, be sure he sees you have just finished cleaning your guns when he arrives."

He smiled. "You always know how to lighten my spirit, Elizabeth."

"It is certainly an arduous task," she sighed, "but I assume the burden as my domestic duty, and I will continue to persevere."

She had intended to tease him further, but he had already crossed the room and was now sitting beside her, his arm extended across the back of the couch, his eyes dancing with hers.

"Take pity on me, my darling wife, and do not tease me tonight. Social exertion before strangers is for me an exhausting exercise, and having engaged in such efforts all evening, I fear I do not now have the energy to spar with you."

"Why should you feel drained, Fitzwilliam? You are not shy like your sister."

"No. But I am easily bored. And I don't much enjoy speaking casually on such an enormous host of trivial topics."

"Ah, yes. I had forgotten. You are above such discourse."

"You rebuke me. Perhaps not undeservingly."

"No, dear, I will assign credit where it is due. You were all charm tonight, the single exception being the thirty minutes you spent in the corner watching your sister and Mr. Davidson dance."

"Did you not think he was a bit too familiar with her?"

"Yes, and so did Miss Darcy. I assure you she is not interested."

"And in whom would you say she did take an interest?"

"I am never one to disclose easily my opinions."

Mr. Darcy laughed. "Yes, indeed. You are quite guarded in your judgments, Lizzy. You have always been the epitome of restraint."

"And now it is you who rebukes me. Is it really true, then, that you have no energy remaining for the night?"

"Oh, I have energy enough," he hastened to clarify, "just not for a prolonged battle of wits."

"Then for what, Mr. Darcy?"

He looked as though he would begin to answer her, but instead he hesitated, attempted to speak, and again fell silent. She marveled that he could ever seem unsure of his reception, especially given the passion that—when it had first surfaced in response to his own—had surprised and almost frightened her by its intensity, but which she had since so often and so freely shown to him.

Mr. Darcy leaned closer. "Do you not think," he said, taking her hand in his, "as it is growing late, perhaps we should. . . that is, Elizabeth, do you wish—"

Her lips silenced his, and he responded to the kiss with fervor. He felt her draw very near to him, and when the faintest whisper of pleasure reached his ears, he knew he had his answer.


	5. Witness to a Sparring Match

[***]

**Author's Note: **The following scene from the life of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy has been excerpted from my novel An Unlikely Missionary (ISBN 0981951406, Double Edge Press, 2008), which is available from most online retailers of books. This scene is presented from the point of view of Charlotte Collins, who is the focus of An Unlikely Missionary.

**[***]**

This evening, after a satisfying dinner, we three lounged in the drawing room, each of us immersed in a separate book. I believe that my absorption in my novel had made me appear as if I had faded into the background, for the Darcys soon began to banter with one another almost as if I were not present.

"Are you reading the bard's sonnets yet again?" Mr. Darcy asked his wife.

"Well apparently I must if I am to enjoy any romantic address at all, for I certainly cannot seem to motivate my husband to write me affectionate letters while he is away on business. All I ever receive is the minute details of parcels and rents."

My attention to my text was soon distracted by their conversation, which was as amusing as anything I had read all week. When Mr. Darcy noticed my gaze, he addressed me. "Can you believe this accusation, Mrs. Collins?" I was surprised by his levity and his candor, but I was pleased that he had decided that my friendship with his wife entitled me to a certain level of familiarity. "My wife bemoans my failure to send her love letters, and yet she places such egregious restrictions on said letters as to make them almost impossible to author."

I could not help but giggle. I could certainly imagine my friend setting difficult standards for any man. "Oh, dear, Lizzy," I said. "What do you require of your poor husband?"

"Mr. Darcy is clearly exaggerating," she replied dramatically, sighing heavily and turning her gaze deliberately from her husband to me. "I ask so very little really. You would think I had requested he clean the Aegean stables."

"Hardly!" he rejoined as he snapped his book shut and lay it on an end table. "I assure you, Mrs. Collins, that her instructions are very exact. She always instructs me in no uncertain terms that although the length of my letter should exceed a single page, it may not contain any material that might justifiably be described as quixotic rambling. Then, she proceeds to insist on the following exclusions:"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at her husband and shook her head at me, mouthing, "Don't you believe him."

Nevertheless, Mr. Darcy continued, "Requirement One: There is to be no quoting of sentimental verse, including but not limited to the Bard of Avon's sonnets. Requirement Two: No comparisons are to be drawn between the recipient of the letter and any object, whether animal, vegetable, or mineral. Requirement Three: No clichés are to be employed during the course of the aforesaid communication."

Now I was more than giggling, I was laughing. "I cannot decide whom to believe," I admitted.

"Believe me," insisted Mr. Darcy. "Perhaps, Mrs. Collins, you are at this point asking yourself what sort of severe, fastidious woman would demand of her spouse such a Herculean task. But no, I will not allow you to question her; I will not allow you to dispute her motives. For I myself can assure you that my wife is wholly without fault."

"_I _ have never claimed to be a woman without fault."

"Your emphasis on the personal pronoun," quipped Mr. Darcy, "would seem to imply you believe I have. In truth, I have never claimed to be any sort of woman at all."

There, again, rose Elizabeth's eyes, but despite her display of exasperation, it was clear she was enjoying the equal match.

"Do not fret, my darling wife. I will one day rise to the challenge you have set before me. Like brave Hector, by all the everlasting gods I'll go, and no force can prevent me!" He turned now to me, but I knew he was really speaking to Elizabeth. "I will not, Mrs. Collins, be defeated by these intricate restrictions my wife has placed upon my words, but rather, like the wrestler Antaeus, I will grow stronger every time I touch the ground. Like Aeneas in the cave of Dido, I will succumb to passion. Though I cannot see my beloved's face, I, like Pyramus, will whisper out the deepest longings of my heart."

Now Elizabeth could no longer feign vexation; instead, she was openly laughing.

"Hah!" Mr. Darcy triumphed. "You did not think to prohibit classical allusions, did you? You were not so cleverly thorough, my dear, as you imagined."

I smiled to see them so enjoying their battle of wits, and I felt pleased that I could do so fully and sincerely, without the least hint of jealousy. I was genuinely happy for their happiness. I was free of any sense that their joy somehow rendered judgment on my own, unassertive choices in life. I knew Elizabeth had been right. I knew India _had_ changed me. It was not, however, until I found myself delighting completely in the bliss of my friend that I realized just _how much_ India had changed me.


	6. A Visit to Rosings

[***]

**Note: ** The following scene from the life of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy is excerpted from my novelette _The Strange Marriage of Anne de Bourgh_ (ISBN 1453851623, 2010). The Mr. Jonson referred to here is a new character who has taken over the rectory at Rosings in the absence of the Collinses, who have fallen into disfavor with Lady Catherine.

[***]

"Shall we leave tomorrow?" Elizabeth asked. She was seated in the southmost sitting room of Rosings, on the most ostentatious couch she had ever beheld: a sort of jewel with legs. "We've been here four days now; I think we've done our duty, don't you?"

"I think we should remain awhile yet," replied Mr. Darcy. He spoke to her casually, now that they were liberated from Lady Catherine's company. In his aunt's presence he tended to assume an affected formality, even with his wife. Elizabeth was relieved to have, finally, an off-stage conference.

"Must we?"

Mr. Darcy rose from the arm chair he had formerly inhabited and walked to the window, where he gazed out at the cautiously crafted grounds of Rosings. The view that extended before his eyes was theoretically beautiful; indeed, it was technically without fault. Yet it failed to inspire his senses, and he felt already how terribly he missed the familiarity of Pemberley. "My aunt is insufferable, I know. I am concerned about her conduct toward Mr. Johsnon."

"Ah...Mr. Jonson. The man seems to be using his charm to fulfill his earthly ambitions."

He turned to look at his wife. "So you are not deceived by his god-like appearance?"

Elizabeth laughed. "I almost think you are jealous, Mr. Darcy."

"Hmph," he grunted, and returned his attention to the scenery. "I am incapable of such petty emotion."

Elizabeth smiled and began to consider how to further provoke him, when he continued, "And yet...I was rather piqued by the manner in which he looked at you, when you were coming back from the garden together."

"What do you mean?" asked Elizabeth, earnestly unaware of the carnal glances that had thrice been leveled in her direction.

"He looked at you in rather the same way that my aunt looked at him." The sentence was half mumbled, he had spoken it so quickly. It was almost as if he did not want to dwell on the memory. He came and sat beside her on the couch. "Shall I challenge him to a duel in order to preserve your honor?"

"You are not serious."

"No. But I look it."

"Rather." And he would indeed, she thought, look serious to any outsider. She, however, had learned to detect the almost indiscernible gleam that would, from time to time, steal into his eyes.

"And when I drew him aside after you came in, I looked it then too," he said. "I feel suitably confident that there will be no further glances cast your way."

Elizabeth could not contain her laughter any longer. She could only imagine the exchange between her husband and Mr. Jonson, but every scenario her mind concocted was a comical one.

"Do you laugh at my thoughtful care for you?" he asked.

"I do."

"Well," he said, bristling like a puppy, "I shall neglect you in the future, and then perhaps I will be taken more seriously."

"I take you very seriously, my dear," she said, and began to stroke his dark curls in an attempt to soothe him, but the touch only darkened his eyes. "That is why I _can_ laugh at you."

That last line of consolation dampened the warming cinders that had been quickened by her touch. He made a confused sound, which had perhaps resulted from the fusion of a laugh and a sigh. "That sounds like a profound paradox," he said, "but it is really just a series of words you have strung together in order to form a nonsensical statement you hope will appease me."

She laughed again. "Very well. Then how might I appease you?"

Now he was the one to smile. He leaned forward unhurriedly as he spoke, approaching her lips with his own. "I can think of one gesture, in particular, that would perhaps go a long way to reconciling me—" He pulled back suddenly as a footman entered the room.

"Mr. Darcy," said the servant, casting his eyes instantly to the floor, "Lady Catherine wishes to inform you that your presence is desired in the dining room, as the meal will soon be served."

"Tell her we will join her in a few moments."

"Very well, sir." The footman bowed and departed.

Mr. Darcy turned back to his wife to receive his kiss, but she prevented him with a finger to his lips and an anxious question: "So we may leave tomorrow?"

He rolled his eyes in routine frustration. It is sometimes said that men have a one track mind, but it seemed to him that it was the female of the species who could focus most methodically on a single subject, even when much more interesting objects were at hand. "Not tomorrow, my love," he said, reflexively yielding to the inevitability of the conversation, but without answering as she had hoped. "I wish to stay a few days in order to observe my aunt and Mr. Jonson. I fear she may jeopardize the family's honor."

"I think you give Mr. Jonson too much credit, Fitzwilliam. No doubt, he is an exceedingly handsome man—" A manufactured spark of envy darted through Mr. Darcy's eyes, and though she did not take it seriously, she addressed it nonetheless: "—nothing compared to you, of course, my dear. But I do not think he can persuade your aunt to compromise herself; she is far too concerned with maintaining distinctions of class to ever allow that to happen."

"I think you give my aunt too much credit. You saw the way she looked at him."

"A look, Fitzwilliam. She will want to have him about like her lap dog. She will want to gaze at him like a beautiful painting. But she is not going to risk the family name."

"And you are willing to tolerate that . . . that lack of propriety?"

"For the sake of family peace, yes. And what I do not see I do not have to tolerate, which is one more good reason to leave tomorrow."

"I would feel more assured if I could stay several more days to observe for myself their interactions. I must do this, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth only nodded her consent. She still disagreed with him, but on this particular issue she did not judge her powers of persuasion to be very great, and she would rather reserve them for future application. Assuming the conversation had reached its conclusion, Mr. Darcy moved to claim his twice denied kiss.

His aunt's voice sometimes reached him like a mild irritant, but at the present moment its self-absorbed tenor actually caused him to grit his teeth. "Darcy!" Lady Catherine was announcing in the open foyer, certain that the estate's magnificent acoustics would carry the summons to any room of the house.

"Your aunt beckons," said Elizabeth. "And, after all, you are the one who wishes to remain at Rosings. Therefore, we should be diligent guests." She rose and prepared to follow the call to the dining room. Looking back at her still motionless husband she could not help but cast him a sympathetic smile. He sat there, starring at the empty space before him like an athlete who has just had a prize callously removed from his expectant hands.


	7. To Elizabeth Upon Refusal

This is not my usual sort of fanfiction, but I'm dusting off a poem I wrote back in high school, when I first fell in love with Pride and Prejudice. So while this is not a scene from the life of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, it's a reflection on Mr. Darcy's initial rejection by Elizabeth. I hope you half enjoy it, even if my skills weren't quite yet honed when I wrote it….

**To Elizabeth, Upon Refusal**

It's now too late to soften  
>the confession I expressed<br>when I told you of my struggle  
>and my desire to suppress<br>those feelings that were alien,  
>so foreign to my heart,<br>which made me think of only you  
>and fear to see you part.<p>

I think that I have always thought  
>that weakness was to love,<br>and desperation such as this,  
>I thought I was above.<br>Yet all my plans to tell my heart  
>those false indifferent lies<br>fell apart upon themselves  
>as I looked into your eyes.<p>

Perhaps it would be better,  
>if I had flattered you,<br>if I had kept unrevealed  
>the doubts I labored through.<br>Perhaps you would have said  
>that you accepted me,<br>instead of finally wounding  
>my untouched vanity.<p>

But disguise is my abhorrence,  
>and I could not pretend<br>my love was unconfronted  
>or that it knew no end.<br>I did not want to love you -  
>and I loved against my will.<br>I did not want to come to you -  
>and I came to you still.<p>

You taught a painful lesson -  
>I expected far too much,<br>to think that you would yield  
>to a proposal and a touch.<br>I know now that my nature  
>is one you can't adore -<br>I've been proud too long,  
>and I've never loved before.<p>

So farewell from Mr. Darcy,  
>I bid you now adieu,<br>and I will only say,  
>"May the Lord bless you."<p> 


	8. Mr Darcy's Homecoming

**Author's Note: **The following scene from the life of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy is excerpted from my collection _The Strange Marriage of Anne de Bourgh_ (ISBN 1453851623, 2010), which is available from Amazon and other online retailers of books. I hope you enjoy this addition to this collection of short, random vignettes.

**Mr. Darcy's Homecoming**

Mr. Darcy spurred his steed onward as he approached Pemberley. He had been absent from the estate for purposes of business for over a fortnight. The gentleman was so preoccupied with thoughts of his homecoming, and most particularly of the sweet pleasures it would entail, that it was almost too late before he noticed the low branch of the great oak tree. He ducked abruptly and was barely spared. The near accident sobered him, and he began to slow the pace of his horse. He would not be of much use to his wife, he supposed, if he were to arrive sans essential body parts, and Elizabeth did rather like his face.

He later dismounted in the courtyard, and as his groomsmen led his horse away, Mr. Darcy gazed up at the great estate. For the first time since the death of his mother, Pemberley once again felt like a real home. He straightened his coattails and brushed off the dust of the road before mounting those great steps that climbed dramatically to the front door. He hoped he would find his wife alone. He had risen before the sun and after only a few hours of sleep so that he might arrive earlier than expected. He wanted to surprise her.

He was disappointed, therefore, when the first people to greet him were Georgiana and Colonel Fitzwilliam. Not that he did not care for his relatives; he dearly enjoyed their company at other times, but they were something of an impediment to him now.

He had hardly returned their greetings before asking, "Where is Elizabeth?"

"She is upstairs," replied his sister, "with her chambermaid, preparing for your arrival, which we did not expect to be until late this afternoon."

Mr. Darcy cast a yearning glance up the stairwell, but resigned himself to wait. He would have to sit with his sister and cousin, he supposed, and discuss a score of subjects which, on any other occasion, might have seemed interesting. He was about to speak when Georgiana interrupted him.

"I have asked my cousin to take me to Lambton this morning. I need to purchase some material for my gown for the ball. Would you mind if we leave now? I do not mean to be rude, I know you have only just arrived—"

"By all means, go!" Had that sounded too hasty? From Colonel Fitzwilliam's amused expression, Mr. Darcy could only assume that it had.

"Fear not, Darcy," said the Colonel. "We will be out of your way in a matter of seconds."

When the two had departed, Darcy hurried up the stairs in a most ungentlemenlike manner, but fortunately there was no one about to witness his ascent.

When he found her, she was bathing. He had eased unobtrusively into the room just as Henrietta, the chambermaid, was preparing to douse Elizabeth's hair with a pitcher of water. Henrietta saw him and nearly let out a yelp, but he raised a finger to his lips to silence her. The chambermaid blushed as he crept over and took the pitcher from her hands, motioning for her to leave. Henrietta managed to sneak quietly out of the room and make it a short way down the hall—just outside of hearing range—before bursting into laughter at the master's uncharacteristic behavior. It was then imperative that she find someone with which to gossip. The footman appeared most handy.

Meanwhile, back at the tub, Elizabeth was growing impatient. "I'm ready, Henrietta," she told her nonexistent chambermaid. Darcy poured the warm water over his wife's head and stood mesmerized as the drops seeped into her dark curls. When she leaned forward to let the excess water drip away, he kneeled down and reverently kissed her shoulder.

In an instant she swung around and slapped him hard across the face. He was still massaging the reddened skin when she realized who he was. "I am so sorry, Fitzwilliam…I was confused…I had no idea who was there—"

"Of course not," he said, opening and closing his jaw to make sure it was still fully functional. "You hit harder than I would have expected. Yet I might have guessed you were capable."

Elizabeth began to reach out to caress his injured cheek when she suddenly remembered to be affronted. "How dare you sneak up on me in this manner! What must my chambermaid think?"

"I imagine," replied Mr. Darcy, "that she thinks I am your husband and may do as I please."

Elizabeth now modestly drew up her legs against her body. "Well, she may think so, but I am of a quite different opinion. Now, if you would be so kind, please leave me to finish my bath, and after I am dressed I will meet you in"—Mr. Darcy raised his lips into an expectant smile—"the library."

The smile fell. "Very well," he consented, rising from his position and heading for the door. Before he could grip the doorknob, however, she exclaimed, "If you leave almost immediately, what will Henrietta think?"

He laughed. That was his Elizabeth, still unaccustomed to her newfound wealth and her position as mistress of Pemberley, concerned more about the opinions of her chambermaid than she had been about the opinions of his aunt. "I imagine," he said, "that she will think you are my wife and may do as you please." He shot her one last burning look before closing the door behind him.


	9. A Question of Conscience

**Author's Note:** The following scene from the life of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy is excerpted (with modifications) from my unfinished novel _Callings_, which I began as a sequel to my published novel _Conviction_. I am not likely to finish _Callings_ any time soon, if at all (as I got stuck long ago and moved on to more contemporary fiction projects), but _Conviction: A Sequel to Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice _ is currently available in paperback and ebook editions from most online retailers of books. (As are two other P&P sequels I have written: An Unlikely Missionary and The Strange Marriage of Anne de Bourgh.) Since I'm not likely to finish _Callings_, I thought I'd at least share one scene with you.

**Background:** The character Mr. Aaron Markwood who is mentioned here is the brother of the Rev. Jacob Markwood, who is Georgiana Darcy's husband and Mr. Darcy's brother-in-law. Mr. Aaron Markwood is a young abolitionist.

**A Question of Conscience**

Mr. Darcy opened the door cautiously. He winced to hear the slight creaking of the frame, and he was glad that the noise did not awaken Elizabeth. He peered in on her sleeping figure and felt a wave of affection wash over his being. After shutting the door quietly, he retreated to his own bedchamber, which normally served as little more than a dressing room, but his wife's pregnancy had brought with it discomforts that made her sleep short and fitful. Had she been awake (as she often was at this hour), he would have joined her, but because she was enjoying a rare moment of slumber, he thought it best not to risk disturbing her. He found his way into his own now largely unfamiliar bed.

[*]

In the morning, when she awoke to find herself alone, Elizabeth ventured out into the cold hallway of Pemberley. She ducked quickly into her husband's room and the sharp-toothed chill of the morning was banished when he took her into his arms. They lay together languidly for awhile, until Elizabeth inquired about the ball. She could extract little information from Mr. Darcy with regard to the social happenings, but he did seem eager to discuss another subject that had arisen the previous night.

"Last night, while we were enjoying our port, Mr. Aaron Markwood asked for my assistance in a particular matter," he said, "and I should like your opinion."

"What aid does he seek?"

"He wishes me to pay for the sea passage of a certain freed woman and her child. Apparently, he is acquainted with a freeman in London, whose wife and children yet remained slaves in the West Indies. He already has the funds to buy them, and he will later free them. But he is a bit out-of-pocket when it comes to paying for their transportation back to England."

"And you said you would be happy to oblige?"

"I said I would I render my decision this evening. As I mentioned, I wish to hear your opinion. Such a formality would be rather empty, don't you think, if I had already given my answer?"

Elizabeth smiled. "Of course, my dear-it is just that I can't think of any conceivable reason why you would say no, or think I would advise against it."

Mr. Darcy chuckled a little. It was a deep, satisfying sound, and Elizabeth curled closer. "You have ever been firm in your opinions," he said, "and never hesitant to express them."

"Did you think me too ready to answer?"

"You have sometimes been rash to jump to conclusions . . . and I have sometimes been too calculating," he admitted. "I thought our natures might temper one another once we were wed, but we seem both to have retained our idiosyncrasies."

She gave him a little kiss. "We have retained our essential personalities," she replied, "but I do think we have helped one another to moderate our defects. You are not now the haughty gentleman I once knew; and I am not, I hope, the prejudiced lady you once regretted fancying."

"I never regretted . . . " He stopped. That was not true. He had regretted it, had wished the feelings exorcised, time and again, in those days following her initial rejection. His lips now closed tightly. He opened them briefly, "I. . . " closed. "I . . . have nothing now but gratitude . . . to . . . have you for my wife."

This inarticulate but sincere response was warmly rewarded by a kiss, which may have been prolonged, had Elizabeth not been eager to return to the earlier topic. "And what of your calculations? Do they prevent you from seeing immediately that you should give Mr. Markwood the funds he requests?"

"On the surface, it seems clear enough. We have spoken of this...you know I do not support slavery, you know I consider it a moral evil. Yet it has been with us for as long as there have been men. I have no objection to assisting this woman and her child. Indeed, it almost puts a personal face on the whole affair. Nevertheless I wonder, once I have given him this, what will Mr. Markwood ask of me next? Abolitionists of his kind are all caught up in a feverish whirlwind, and they will not pause to examine what damage may be occurring in the wake of their ideals." He sighed. "I don't know. He tells me I am wrong, and he can be a quite convincing young man."

"He's a very passionate young man. Not unlike his brother."

"Jacob's passions are regulated by good sense, else I would not have allowed him to marry Georgiana."

"And you don't think Aaron's are?" she asked.

"I fear he will push too hard too quickly. While I agree slavery must end, its too rapid collapse could bring down with it the fates of many men-slaves and masters alike. If one uses the law like a hammer instead of a chisel, humanity may be shattered rather than sculpted. That is my only concern."

Elizabeth didn't quite agree with his analysis of the matter, but she knew his nature and knew he had come to his opinion only with much true concern and moral wrestling. "But you think helping with the passage of this pair to be right?"

"Of course."

"Then help them, my love, and worry about the ramifications another time, when Mr. Markwood asks of you his next favor. Who knows but that your own views about the speed of abolition may have changed by then."

"You mean who knows whether you may have succeeded in changing them?" He raised an accusatory eyebrow.

"I can be very persuasive," she said mischievously.

"So, then, you believe in absolute and immediate abolition?"

"I would be happy to see it. I do not believe in its probability. I think us a long way from that."

"And if men like Mr. Markwood should try to force near what is a long way away, will that draw it near, or will it force it still farther in retreat?"

Elizabeth propped her head up by a hand and mused, "Will he, by taking the extreme position, lose the necessary support of more moderate men?"

"Precisely my question, my love."

"I cannot know, Fitzwilliam. He can only do what his conscience dictates—as can you. I think it dictates, at least, that you do this one thing he has asked."

"It does. It does."

She nodded firmly. "Then it is decided," she announced. "So let us entertain more frivolous thoughts for a time."

"Such as?" His eyes glistened with hope.

"Oh, my husband, I imagine you can think of something with which to amuse us."

"I can, but it might not require words."

She slid the hand that rested on his back upwards and entangled her fingers in his thick hair. "Then be silent, my love, and speak to me in other ways."

Mr. Darcy smiled and leaned in to meet his wife's lips with his own.


End file.
